Men They Couldn't Hang Gold Rush
Working on a pipeline
Through the guts of a Northern sea
Someone struck the blackstuff
And it could have just been me
I signed on to an oil rig
For a pioneers wage
Fishing for our fortune
And pumping up the guage
But the North Sea winds are bitter
And the daylight hours are cruel
Still we keep the big drill pumping
Out the barrel loads of fuel
Mary and the children
Are living down in Leeds
The weekly cheque I send them
takes care of all their needs
Still I dream of other women
On this island made of men
Each week the chopper takes us
Down to Maria's den
But the North Sea winds are bitter
And the sky is painted grey
And the waves they come in bigger
And the strong men start to pray
My brother sometimes writes me
He's living still at home
How he could never be this way
Could never bear to roam
But I believe in fortune
And the gold of the frontier
I believe in miracles
And I am staying here
